


Dean. Those boys are kissing.

by DwalinsBiscuits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys Kissing, Denial, Discovery, First Time, Frottage, Homophobia, M/M, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwalinsBiscuits/pseuds/DwalinsBiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their last night in town, John could be back any minute, and Sam sees something not unlike a unicorn that Dean has to explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean. Those boys are kissing.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeaTimeAt221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaTimeAt221B/gifts).



It's not so much that John doesn't notice the things going on about his boys. He sees it every time Sam looks to Dean for permission to nab a treat,  every time he comes back from a hunt and sees Sam melt into Dean - not because he's relieved Daddy's home in one piece (Dad's pretty invincible anyway), but because Dean is relieved, Dean relaxes. He's been seeing it even when it became apparent that little six year old Dean could calm his baby faster than John.  He sees it, and finds the guilt in himself, shakes hands with it, and settles its welcome invasion with a bottle of oblivion.  And he treats what he notices about his sons just like he treats his guilt.  There's no time to fix any of that, and if he's going to save the world from the evil that made the Winchesters who they are, then that's their mission and his sole duty.  He's going to do it right and do it thoroughly.  Besides, they'll grow out of it.  Dean's been turning heads long before his voice pitched his raw honey thick drawl and now that Sam's getting older, he'll be able to wink into the lap of the prettiest girl of every small town they pass through.  And at the end of the day, one queen or two twins is cheaper than anything else. 

Tonight's no different.  It was a standard salt and burn, and he brought Dean home with only bruises on his back from being thrown and the common scrapes any kid would get from running, diving, and rolling in un-haunted gravel roads.  Immediately, Sam is up hopping from the further most bed, and wrapping his arms around his brother, not minding when the papers from his Geology class fall off the side next to the wall, probably not to be seen again. (They're done with this town anyway.)  He pulls back again and eyes Dean closely, patting him down for any injuries that Dean patiently stands through for a moment and then grabs his hands and sets them down at Sam's sides. 

"Woah, move aside little dude, nature calls."

"Sam," John gets his attention, and throws a wad of cash which Sam catches, "You and your brother get something to eat okay? I'll finish up here. We leave tomorrow." 

They grapple shortly for who carries the cash, (it's Dean) and leave with Dean's arm around Sam's small shoulders.

***

Sammy's seen a lot of weird things by the time he was twelve.  Hell, honestly, he'd known about a loony-bin's worth of crazy when he was younger than that.  For a while, he didn't register the mundane things about living--that it was the wife and her three kids behind a picket fence that actually existed beyond the movies, unlike the depictions about space ships and colorfully suited fighters of justice. Jumping from small town to nowhereville and back doesn't bring the same sort of people that inhabit cities with a population greater than three thousand.  But eventually, Sam sees them. They're just off of Eureka Springs, Arkansas.  It's late into the night, but there they are, in public. Kissing.  And they're young. Two teens, practically oozing glitter and is that one wearing makeup?  

So fine, granted, Sam thought about girls sometimes.  Like how pretty that girl in language arts curls her hair.  And then that one scarring time when Isabella, " _Call me Belle, sugarpout._ " from Dean's grade leaned towards Sam with her huge boobs, and chatted at _him_ , not his brother; she licked her lips and blew kisses at him, up until Dean stopped snickering at them, and ended it when she touched Sam's face. After Dean shooed her away, Sam realized _that_ was flirting, and it was the closest he'd gotten to really, personably interacting with anyone like how a guy interacts with a girl.  Sam's still not quite sure if girls are awesome or still foreign human epitomes of 'ew,' but go figure… Between the bad pornos and the grungy whores that his Dad's friends would detail grossly explicit stories about, he knew the so called mechanics of all things "normal,"  Except, across the street there's no sign of any lady.  Sex and girlish wails were burned into his ears, but boys? 

"Dean." Sam whispered, eyes wide, tugging on his brother's plaid shirt, "Dean _look_." Finally garnering his brother's attention, he jutted his head towards the pair.  Still making out. "Those boys are _kissing_." Brow raised, Dean whips his head around to get a quick glance before the corner of his mouth quirks,

"You had too many sips from Dad's secret stash Sammy? That's a..." Dean trails off at Sam's serious petulant frown, and Dean pauses to turn his body to sneak a better view, feigning searching through his pocket and pulling out his lighter.  Woah. That...isn't a chick.  Slowly his mouth twists into a smirk and whispers, 

"That dude looks like a lady. Hey Sammy, you want liner just like him? That's why you've got such girly hair kiddo?"

"What? No!" He said quickly, ducking his head and shifting on his feet, squirming undecided between shoving his hands in his pockets and clinging to his brother's jacket.  He glances another look up.

Dean's lit a cigarette (not those childish fruity flavored ones) to go with the sham, and smirks again when he catches Sam staring again,

"Something you've been holding out on me Sammy?  They getting you hot and bothered?"  He doesn't wait for Sam to protest, he can already feel the kid's vibrating shake "no way." Dean's totally enjoying the culture shock Sam's blundering through.  Across the street--just to stir shit up--he shouts to the gays,

"Get a room, faggots!" He's an awesome big brother. 

"Speak for yourself pedo!"  ...That, Dean did not expect.

"Oh, God no! he's my brother, freak, fuck!" He angrily tosses the cigarette, glaring madly at the pair glaring back and spitting. 

"Yeah right, Chester."  One sneers back.

"Chomo!"  The other yells.  Fuck, _child molester?_

Dean expects to cross the street and set them straight with his fists, but there's a small hand gripping his bicep and the duo has already turned and started walking the opposite direction, arms wrapped around each other's hip.

"Son of a bitch." he curses. He flips them off for good measure before allowing himself to be turned around and tucks Sam under his arm.

Sam doesn't say anything, just processes what happened, thinking hard, not sure where to place anything.   They head back to the motel where they're staying, late night pie and pancakes dismissed.  In their silence Sam wonders about them, they were so young, probably Dean's age, though he guessed it was Dean's worn jeans, his cool leathers, and general rugged broke-the-world look that tipped him as older to the boys.  Something niggles near the back of Sam's mind and he can't help asking,

"Is it really that bad?"

"What?" Dean asks, faking ignorance, but Sam doesn't answer right away.  He eyes his brother and there's something in eyes that reminded him of those other kids that's a bit bitter and scared, yet open and curious, and so innocent... Dean purses his lips. Okay then...

"Nope.  Just if  you like taking it up the ass..."  The wide eyed trying to be neutral expression is still there. "Don't answer any knocks from other bathroom stalls and stay away from the truckers with hankys, Sammy."

"Really Dean?" Sam wrinkles his nose.  Did not need to know that. Again. He sort of already knew that, he grew up on the road after all.

Dean offers his big brother knows best stare.

Sam huffs and shakes his head. They remain in terse silence before Sam breaks it again with a hushed question,

"Hey Dean?" He hums at the question, and Sam continues, "Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Dean almost freezes. Almost. Would have, if he weren't Dean Winchester, but he is, so he says,

"Sure. Haven't you?" 

He gets a self righteous glare, and he lazily smirks back and really can't help but tease, "You thinking of batting for the other team on me, buddy?"

The silence he gets in return is eerie.

"Which is fine," he hurriedly fills the space, "But hey, you're still pretty young and it's not like being around them is, Poof! Gay fairy dust."

Sam rolls his eyes and mutters the obligatory "I'm not a kid anymore," that Dean follows with a messy ruffling of Sam's hair.  Sam sighs and leans slightly into his brother's big hands.  They glow of the motel vacancy sign looms just another long suburban country block away, so Sam figures it's safe to ask, "What's it feel like?"

Dean tilts his head, considering.

"Like kissing a girl, I guess. Maybe not so delicately soft."

Sam frowns, "Maybe?"

Shit. 

Okay, so maybe that time he was over at that girl's... Sadie? Sandra? Samara? Whatever, so maybe when they were playing truth or dare and the jock he was supposed to kiss only made it to his hand on his thigh and six inches from his face before chickening and made Dean out to look like a flaming homosexual...So not his best moment, but, 

"Hey, not like I've gone around with free love painted on my chest, man..."

Sam just raises an eyebrow at him. Damn, Dean's pretty sure he's calling this night officially over.

"You sure you've kissed a boy before?"

"Fine, you caught my bluff, Sherlock. We didn't actually..." Dean halts and fiddles with the zipper on his jacket, longingly staring at the door to their room and glancing at the parking space the impala isn't currently occupying.  Dad must've gone to a bar while they were getting food earlier.  There was no telling when he'd return.

Sam looks conflicted, like he's having a Moment and is going to say something.  Dean beats him to it,

"Sam?"

Sam knocks his shoulder into Dean's side.  His heart is thudding a little giddy and he needs the quick contact to ground him and it's been kind of a weird night, so he blames it on his thought-cloudy head when he blurts,

"I wouldn't wuss out if it's you."

Oh. 

_Oh._

"Sammy? That's..." 

Sam is studying his face full of sincere intent and Dean drops whatever he would've said to return that gaze.  They've never had any queasy reasons or stuttering feelings to restrict long term eye contact, and now… now doesn't have to be any different.  They're already at a standstill in the chilly windy close-to-the-highway air.  Sam's genuineness trips him hard and he can't let Sammy down, or say… because they're not… He tries evaluating the situation, but thinking wouldn't be any good here.  Yes, maybe his boy had never seen boys kissing before, yet neither had he any idea his super-hero might disapprove.  Dean half panics that he's gone and messed everything between them up, but that's nonsense; what exactly would he have messed up?  Nothing. They're brothers, and Winchesters, and their definition of normal doesn't matter, because God, _normal_ kids probably do this too.  It's not like there's anything bad going on, just...experimentation.  And most importantly? Sammy needs him.  He's all he has, and who else is going to talk him through these types of things? Certainly not friends; who knows what prudish dweebs he finds to bop around with.

For Sam though, the gaze is all the cue he needs, he reaches out towards Dean's arm, but he gets denied when Dean moves it to rub his shoulder.  Sam rests his hand on Dean's hip instead and looks up.  Their height difference is a little ridiculous. Dean just got through with his second growth spurt since puberty, and Sam has yet to shoot up like a weed.  Dean furtively scans the shadows of the lot and runs by the windows.  No passersby, no window gazers, no impala: no Dad. _But he could be around soon_.

"Yeah, okay."

He lets himself be dragged down. 

They kiss and fine, Sam's not the best kisser. Dean wonders if Sam has ever kissed anyone before, and damn, if that didn't make his dick twitch in interest. Sam suddenly slid his mouth open under Dean's and wow okay, Dean would be a lame ass example if he didn't thrust his tongue into his brother's hot mouth. He can feel Sam's breath hitch and he manages to bite back a moan, but not prevent his dick from filling out in his jeans.  _Fuck, Sammy._ Curse his teenage hormones.  Sam curls his fingers underneath the back collar of Dean's jacket, fitting his body to align with Dean's and if Sam gets any closer... Dean feels Sam's body tense-- _fuck, too late_ ; Dean is hard pressing against Sam's abdomen through layers of denim and cotton.  Tentatively, Sam jerkily undulates his hips into Dean, and Dean flows back easily, doesn't think, only to guide Sam into kissing, nibbling on his lower lip before pulling away.    

"Dean..." Sam whines, tugging on his brother's belt loops, needy and imploring.  Dean blinks and breathes deeply through his nose trying to clear the association; last time anyone tugged on his pants like that, he got laid.

"Sammy, we--" the c _an't_ dies behind Dean's teeth when Sam undulates his hips again and _shit,_ he's hard, humping his thigh in little kittish movements.  It suddenly occurs to Dean that Sam really doesn't know what he's doing.  Immediately Dean is pushing Sam behind him and looking wide-eyed around the lot, ignoring Sam's confusion, knowing exactly what this looks like.  He changes his sentence, "--need to get back to the room."

They both jump when they think they hear the engine of the Impala, but there's nothing but trees, and their space is still empty.  They hurry inside and instantly Sam clings to Dean's shirt and laces their hands together.  Dean licks his lips and stares at their hands, suddenly oddly intimate; something in the way his heart is hammering vaguely rings like a warning bell resonating, _maybe this should stop_ , and yet his little brother's fingers nestled between his scraped knuckles comforts like familiar rubber heated on anonymous asphalt.  He reaches his free hand to muss up Sam's hair, and Sam massages his head against Dean's touch, but still he squirms.

"Dean please.  What's? I gotta..." his eyes are glazed and he's got that hurt puppy expression Dean can't ever say no to.  

"Okay.  Okay baby boy, gonna take care of you." Because it's not wrong, he's needed, he's helping his brother figure things out, it's not really…anything,  and if the expression on his face is anything to go by, Sam is so far lost he needs the help. "C'mere." They take the bed furthest from the door, and Dean rubs Sam through his jeans, who keens in answer, gripping the scratchy polyester covers tight.

Dean shushes him, "S'okay. Hold on," Dean adjusts himself, popping the button and fly down, leaving his cock clothed, and Sam mimics his motions.  He doesn't bother with the rest of their clothing--easier to explain away.  He can duck and hide in the bathroom, turn on porn or whatever, in case Dad does come back.

Kissing Sam isn't like kissing girls, Dean decides, it's like kissing a sloppy version of himself, which sends another heat pulsing through his groin. It's a baser, egoist and proud part of him, not dissimilar to the part of him that sent pride flooding him when he showed Sam how to hold a shotgun and he was responsible for talking Sam through his first bullseye.  Dean can't help but smirk and praises,

"Like that, don't you?  So proud.  My baby boy."

"What's it… oh, feels _good_." Sam isn't sure what is up or what he wants but he knows Dean's hand on him was amazing, so he grabs at him and bucks blindly against Dean's open palm, but it's not enough, Dean's so distant. Before Dean can fully process what's happening, Sam crawls into his lap and sits. He winces, but fuck if the knowledge that he's never done this before doesn't make him pulsing hot.

"Lemme just… there, now you have it."  He adjusts Sam over his cock so he's rubbing between Sam's plump covered ass.  Sam's movements are uncoordinated and gawky as he rocks on Dean's lap until Dean grabs the sides of hips and rolls his light body over his dick. He has to be quick about it if they're not going to get caught. 

"Like this. Yeah.  Feel that? It's all for you, baby boy. So good for me. Just like that…Perfect," He can't hold back, grinding hard, Sam shifting closer, his little dick flush against Deans belly and chest as he rolls his hips and Dean moans, "Gonna make it all better." Dean's praise has Sam grinning and lets his head fall into the crook of his neck, clenching his thighs around Dean's and rides his body harder.

***

That's how John finds them. Sam sitting on Dean's thighs, nothing too indecent, but the way they move and rock each other, the expressions on their faces and kiss-slicked lips don't offer any misunderstandings or opportunities for denial.  Curtains that were pulled open for then sun in the morning haven't been touched since, framing the sides of the window like an obscene show.  The overhead light inside the room shines a sallow spotlight on the boys and casts a radiant glow in the otherwise dark lot, lighting up the room for any audience to view through the dirty glass. John's going to drill them hard about windows and salt lines once he has a chance.  John watches the ecstasy slide from their eyes and melt into a molasses mess of contentment and adoration, a brotherly shove grappled and pinned into a tangle of gangly growing limbs until the boys mould together and overlap each other into a pile of octopus parts as they fall asleep.  As always, as John's always paid witness to, his boys are too wrapped up in each other to dream of tracing his movements.  He turns away from the window, facing out to the grayscale lot, and doesn't step out of his backlit stance to slip inside the room until he's assured there are no other onlookers. The first thing he does in that room now pungent-ripe with the smell of sex is drop the blinds and draw close the curtains.  _No one_ is permitted to bear eyes upon these boys - his children as they are, and live.  Heaven can testify, they've already been tainted enough.

John wasn't born a soldier.  He wasn't born a hunter; he's only been at it for just over a decade now, and he's been a parent for longer than that.  The first instinct he has isn't to throw salt and holy water, nor slice skin with silver, nor check under the bed for hexbags, but that doesn't stop him from whispering "Christo" softly as he moves to his bed for the night.  No, John was raised as a normal kid, he had a normal life, and that's what Dean's life was going to be and was for four precious years.  So instead, shock numbs his system as he smells sex over the tones of blood, boys, gunpowder, and bleach, but then, he should have known - in a sense, he did know.  Waves of guilt punch him even as he breathes a little easier; he can't deny the benefits of single-minded loyalty born of fierce intimacy and devotion.  Eventually, because a hunter and a soldier is what he is now, he gets the sleep where he can get it, and his dreams are blessedly soft:  unmarred and blank of demons and monsters, personal and real. 

When they wake up, John's already awake and has pie set aside for Dean and a milkshake for Sammy.  Their eyes light up as starved men before Dean's turns cold and wary.  Sam takes his shake regardless.  Guilt coils through John not for the first time that morning. Next week, before the hunt he should treat them, and the week after the next when it's over…

"It's going to be a long drive.  We're headed to Spokane, Washington." That's not quite what he meant to say.   Nor was the "Nothing got to you while I was gone, right?," nor were the chewing out about salt lines and windows and curtains exactly what he meant to say at the moment, especially considering the scarcely concealed fear and horror in the boys' eyes.  Even if the fright in Sam's eyes was more of a projection of Dean's, with embarrassment coloring his face.  So he gives up and sets a wide hand on each of the boys' shoulders and regards them with bitter warmth that creases his face with apology.  Dean relaxes a little, and even though he tries not to, Sam instinctually relaxes too.  John tries again,

"You boys stick together.  Family's all you have.  Number one rule: Protect each other.  You two are brothers.  You must have each other's backs. No secrets, you got to be able to trust the man covering your back," He catches Sam's eye, "Stay safe.  Monsters come in many forms. Know what you're up against." Satisfied with the nod and comforted by his bratty easy confidence, John turns from Sam back to Dean "Dean, look after your brother."

Dean works his throat over, suddenly too dry, as confusion and a staggering sense of hesitant relief churns his gut, though from what he won't ever admit.  He doesn't dare break eye contact from his Dad, as much as he needs to look at Sam and make sure he's okay.   Then there's a cool hand dripping condensation onto his own, and a chilled finger rests on his knuckles and that's all he needs to choke his tongue into working through the promise,

"Yes sir."

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a birthday fic written for TeaTimeat221B, belatedly posted.  
> (Happy Birthday! ♥)
> 
> Coincidentally, this is the first fic I've actually completed, so thank you for reading!  
> Cross-posted to tumblr at [assbutt-of-celestial-intent](http://assbutt-of-celestial-intent.tumblr.com/).


End file.
